


Common Knowledge

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: help_haiti, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain things about Jim Kirk that everyone knows. Everyone is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://inell.livejournal.com/profile)[**inell**](http://inell.livejournal.com/) for [](http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/). Thank you to [](http://shopfront.livejournal.com/profile)[**shopfront**](http://shopfront.livejournal.com/) and [](http://mari4212.livejournal.com/profile)[**mari4212**](http://mari4212.livejournal.com/) for your beta efforts. Any remaining errors are entirely my fault.

It's common knowledge that James T. Kirk is, well, a slut. Really, it is. _Everyone_ knows it. He flirts, he laughs and he wines and dines. In short, obviously, he shoots, he scores – a lot. Male, female, as-yet-undetermined or indefinable, if it's willing, Jim's had it. Everyone knows that. Hell, everyone knows it from personal experience that Jim Kirk's had more ass than a toilet seat.

Crass, but, as certain instructors might say, quite logical. It's plain to see. He makes no attempt at hiding it. All that flirting and laughing definitely went a long way to proving it. Not that people need proof.

Everyone knows that it's obvious: everyone is wrong. No news there if you're Jim Kirk. Jim's pretty sure that no one's ever actually been _right_, except, Bones. Naturally and there's the thing of it. Everything's different when it comes to Bones. Probably because everything changed for him when Bones stomped into his life. Pike might've gotten the ball rolling, but it's Bones that closed the deal.

As far as Jim's concerned, he might not have 'property of Leonard H. McCoy' tattooed on his ass, but it's not that far off it. Hell, for all he knows, that might be what Bones is up to with those hypos of his.

He's seen the material that Bones is studying and has a pretty good idea how far over his head it is. He's not exactly stupid (something else everyone is wrong about) he understands just enough of the basics to know Bones is a fucking genius. Designing some fancy DNA tag that reads '_Property of LHM, MD, this one's mine, find your own goddamn maniac_' in fifteen Federation languages is not that hard for a guy as smart as his Bones.

Bones isn't the only one with a possessive streak, and that's the ironic part about it. For the guy who's supposed to be whoring his way through the Academy, Jim kind of only wants one cadet and he has no idea how to go about it.

Seriously, no idea and that's not something that Jim's used to. It's just _complicated_. Bones isn't your average one-nighter and anything with him isn't going to be just a satisfying encounter between two consenting beings of legal maturity. Jim wouldn't mind a little consenting, sure, but he wants waffles and coffee the next morning and that's just to start. After that, he wants lazy mornings in bed and arguing over who takes out the trash or pays the mortgage. He wants as much as Bones is willing to give him.

No, scratch that. He wants so much more than that. He wants it all, but he'll start with that. Just as soon as he can figure out how to get to that. Right now, he's stumped.

"You aren't still moping, are you?" Liz Dehner gusts out, dropping into a chair, her blonde bob bouncing. "We've talked about this Jim." Which they have. Sort of. Jim's always a little leery about sharing too much with people in her profession and that was _before_ they held his future career in their over-educated little hands.

"No," Jim says, with a smile. "_You_ talked and I squirmed. You freak me out, Liz." Which isn't fair. She is a psychiatry resident, and a good one, but she's a friend. The former pretty much used to preclude the latter, but Bones likes her and Bones doesn't like anybody so Jim took that as a glowing character reference.

It pretty much is, but she still freaks him out. Jim has history with psychiatrists and most of it isn't all that good.

She rolls her eyes. "This isn't my professional opinion, Jim. Believe me, you don't want to hear that."

She's right, he doesn't.

Sighing, Jim shrugs. "I should be able to handle this, Liz. I'm a 2nd year student who's aceing all his classes and teaching one himself. How can I do that and --"

"Freeze when McCoy so much as smiles your way?" she smiles and Jim flops forward, hiding his face against his arm. He is so very fucked. Liz's history with relationships is almost worse than his and if _she_ can see it he is totally, totally fucked.

Not that it matters. She might notice, but Bones is oblivious.

"It's not _that_ bad," Jim says, looking out at her. "...is it?"

Her smile becomes a grin. "Maybe just to me." She shrugs. "Besides, after Gary, it's only fair I offer you useless relationship advice."

Jim cringes. She's got a point there. He'd thought setting her up with Gary Mitchell was perfect. Liz spent too much time inside her own head (and everybody else's) and Gary didn't spend enough, between the two of them, it should've been a perfect fit.

Yeah, major fuck up in that department. Given how badly they'd crashed and burned, Jim considered it damn near miraculous that either one of them was still speaking to him, much less both of them. Though he had a feeling Bones would've fallen on his knees and thanked Jesus if Gary disappeared from his life. One of Jim's better angels Gary is not.

"I'll give you that one," he says. "Still -- "

She laughs. "It's a hazard of the job, Jim. You spend too much time around people, you notice things."

Propping his head up on his hand, Jim looks at her. "We see you maybe twice a week. Three if Bones drags you out of that cave you call an apartment."

She wrinkles her nose and waves him off. "I'm a busy woman, Jim Kirk. I don't have time to sit around all day and watch you two flirt."

He perks up. "We flirt?" Which, yes, he sort of has, but Bones?

Liz raises a brow. "You mean does he flirt back?" She laughs when Jim throws a napkin at her. "Yes," she says, throwing it back. "That's what I meant. What did you think he was doing?"

Jim shrugs. "Being Bones? He's a total curmudgeon, Liz. He's always like that."

Laughing, Liz leans over and lightly taps him on the forehead with her stylus. "No, Jim," she says, "he's always like that around _you_." She gets up, putting her PADD and stylus in her bag, then lays a hand on his shoulder. "A little friendly advice?"

"Shit or get off the pot?"

Her nose wrinkles again. "A crude analogy, but not a terrible one either. Time to do something about it, Jim."

She's right. He knows she's right. It's just – "Yeah, I know," he sighs, "but what?"

Liz offers up her version of his infamous grin. "You're supposed to be the sex god, you figure it out."

He really kind of hates her sometimes.

-

Especially when she's right. He might not be the sex god/slut his classmates envision him to be, but Jim's no blushing virgin. He _knows_ things, has made it his business to know things, but fuck, it's not the same thing.

Throwing himself down on the couch, Jim puts one foot on the floor, one against the cushion and glares aimlessly at the ceiling.

"Figure it out," he mutters, mimicking Liz's flippant tone. "I'm _trying_."

"Yeah, well, try a little quieter, will ya?" Bones says as he passes. He's got a padd in one hand, a empty mug in the other, and he doesn't even spare Jim a glance. His gaze stays focused intently on the padd's screen. "Some of us have work to do."

Jim does not jump in surprise. He doesn't. Just because he hadn't realized Bones was home, much less walking by, and close enough to _hear_ him. No, he does not.

He does, however, sigh in relief that he didn't say something immensely stupid. Like, say, what he's figuring out. As he follows Bones into the kitchen, Jim pictures how that conversation would go, '_You_ what_?' Bones would say, shocked. 'You out of your god-damned mind, Jim, or are you just fucking with me?'_ is the mildest version he can come up with.

Most of the rest involve a whole lot more profanity and, possibly, creative and unpleasant employment of that padd in Bones' hand.

"You know, Bones, that whole extra credit thing?" Pulling himself up on the counter, Jim punches an order for coffee into the foodslot, then changes his mind and cancels it. He grabs a bottle out of the overhead cabinet, and waits for Bones to hand him a glass. Best part about an off-campus apartment is Bones and his stash. Whole bottles that don't have to be hidden in somebody's sock drawer. "It's kind of pointless when you're already head of the class."

"Not for class," Bones says. He plunks two glasses down. "Treated a Betazoid ambassador last week. Boyce figures there's a paper in their brain chemistry." Shaking his head, Bones leans against counter next to Jim. "Between psilosynine and that whole metaconscious of theirs? Forget one paper, I could make a career out of those guys."

"Betazed," Jim nods. "Not that far from Vulcan. Matriarchal culture. Telepaths." He's read up on them and then some. Being a new addition to the Federation made them the latest hot commodity, plus, culturally, they were pretty damn fascinating in their own right. He bites his tongue, tempted to say, 'hey Bones, I hear they get married naked, wanna crash one?' because he really, really wants to see the look on Bones's face. It's fun shocking him.

Not as fun as if Bones actually agreed, but he's all about the compromise. Okay, no he isn't, but he's always up for exploring strange new worlds and all that shit, right?

He doesn't say it; he pours the drinks instead. "Can I read it when you're done?"

"Sure," Bones nods. "Was gonna ask you anyway."

"Always knew you were in it for my editing skills," Jim says, tossing back the drink in one go. He reaches for the bottle again. "I feel so cheap."

Bones snorts. "Maybe, if you didn't love it so much." He reaches for his own drink, leaning across Jim without so much as blinking. Jim sucks in a breath as Bones's slides over his thighs. The dorm hadn't exactly been miniscule, but they'd pretty much forgotten personal space and boundaries a couple of weeks in. He didn't used to notice. "You missed your calling, Jim. Forget the Fleet, you were born for red ink."

"Nobody uses paper anymore, Bones," Jim says. It's almost a sigh and there's another one for the uneducated masses. Jim Kirk, book snob and frustrated editor extraordinaire. "It's a lost art."

Bones rolls his eyes, holding out his glass. "Whatever. You don't, it's spellcheck, and that grammar subroutine, and the journal's editors can do their thing."

Jim shudders. "Philistine. Give." He snatches the padd over Bones's protests, thumbing through it with a scowl. Forget seducing him, he needs to pound basic grammar into Bones' head. "How the hell does a guy so goddamn smart fuck grammar so goddamn badly? Seriously, Bones, what'd Standard ever do to you, run over your dog or something? Was your father-in-law a teacher or something? Shit."

"Give me that," Bones says. He returns the favor, whipping the padd back out of Jim's hands. "It's a rough draft."

"That's not a rough draft," Jim says. "It's forty miles of bad road. It's a good thing you're a medical genius, Bones. I'm supposed to be the clueless pretty boy around here. No fair to horn in on my territory."

He grins at the outraged look that Bones gives him in response. If there were any point, he'd bet a month's pay as to the source of Bones' outrage.

It's a good thing said pay's negligible. "We're not on that bullshit again, are we?"

"What bullshit?" Jim asks, deliberately obtuse. He slides down off the counter, filling his glass one last time, and contemplates heading for the gym. He's got a couple papers of his own to work on, but he needs a run or something first, clear his head and get this whole 'hi, I'm painfully and totally in love with my best friend, how pathetic am I?' thing shoved back where it belongs. "It's a compliment, Bones."

"It's that passive-aggressive, 'I suck, not in the good way, and everybody knows it' bullshit and we both know it." Bones grabs for him this time, hand curling around his wrist. "Never going to figure it out, Jim. How can a guy as confident as you be so damn -- "

"Fucked in the head?" Jim laughs. "Ask Liz. She won't give me her professional opinion, but I bet you could get it out of her." He tries for a reassuring smile, thinks he maybe gets in the neighbourhood, and pulls at the hand holding his arm. "Seriously, Bones, I'm okay. I was making a joke and it came out wrong."

Oh yeah, he's supposed to be the one who knows this stuff. He's supposed to be the one who can seduce anybody, get past anyone's defences, just as smooth as fucking silk.

He was supposed to figure this out and sweep Bones off his feet.

Jim snorts under his breath. He couldn't sweep an ant off its feet, nevermind _Bones_. Bones who's staring at him with eyes so intense Jim's trapped by that simple stare.

"The hell you were," Bones says, low and quiet. He looks like he wants to ask and Jim flinches at the thought. Bones doesn't need to know the about the particularly nasty skeletons lurking in his closet. His dad, sure, but then there's Frank, Tarsus IV, and a few other choice gems that Jim just doesn't feel like sharing.

That's what made those other relationships easy. No commitment, no strings, just fun and maybe breakfast after. Nobody needing to share a goddamn thing they didn't want to.

Easy.

Not this.

"Bones," he says, low. It's not a plea, it's maybe a request, but either way, Jim wants to take it back as soon as it clears his lips. "I, uh, just -- " he shrugs. "I've got work to do and I'm probably going to need my hand for that."

"_Jim_," Bones counters. "I -- " he sighs. "You need to do something about this."

"Yeah," Jim agrees. "I do. Every day. Had all the fun therapy, Bones, and I know all the buzz words. At this point, I can tell the counselors their diagnosis before they even get a chance to perform an exam." He smiles, tired, and shrugs. There's not much else he can do at this point. He's right about that. Liz admits it herself. "It's all on me and I'm handling it."

"That's what you call it?" Bones asks. His fingers slip free, but don't go far. Jim almost shivers, feeling them brush the back of his hand. "Bar fights, serial fucks, and every single extreme sport known to man?"

"Never said I was handling it _well_," Jim says. He looks at the glass in his hand and puts it back on the counter. "This isn't what I planned on talking about today," he says, wry. "I'm supposed to be a command track cadet, but I can't even command a conversation."

"Medical's independent," Bones says. He doesn't shrug, but Jim can hear it in his voice. "Besides, I never listen to you anyway." He moves closer. The padd he'd been carrying ends up next to Jim's glass on the counter. "What conversation were you planning?"

"Not this one," Jim says. He knows that he's skirting the question. He knows that he is, in effect, looking for the fastest way out of the room that won't look like a retreat, but will mean he doesn't have to talk about his feelings.

Feelings fucking suck. Especially the good tingly ones that he gets whenever Bones happens to be within a couple dozen light years.

Bones breathes deep. Jim listens to the slow intake of air and knows what it means. Bones always does that when he's going somewhere deep. Somewhere he knows Jim doesn't want to follow.

Without looking, Jim can picture him pinching his lip, chewing it, considering angles of attack. Bones always overthinks before he commits. Jim?

Jim's always made an effort not to.

You overthink and you fuck it up for sure. Don't, and maybe, maybe it works just the way it's supposed to. Precisely how, he guesses, that Bones ends up pressed against the kitchen counter with Jim's lips sealed tight against his.

It's not his best kiss, it's probably an all-time personal worst, but it's a kiss. That's progress, right? Even if he gets knocked on his ass ten seconds from now, Jim knows what it feels like to have Bones in his arms and against his body.

Might be the shittiest consolation prize in history, but Jim'll take it. He'll never stop wanting more, but he's learned to appreciate what he has.

Something else that'd surprise the masses.

Bones breaks off the kiss, too soon but he'd seen it coming, and glares at him. "Jim - " he hesitates. It's just long enough that Jim starts to back away, only to find his way barred by Bones's iron grip. "Stop that," Bones says, voice a low growl that makes Jim squirm. "I'm not done with you yet."

Since he's not being punched, insulted, or thrown out of anyone's life, Jim listens.

"Do me a favor," Bones says, a smile tugging at his lips, "If you're supposed to be an expert at this, you mind acting like it?"

"Fuck you," Jim says, unrepentantly cheerful.

"Maybe later." Bones looks surprised, then pleased with his own response. Jim bites back a snicker in favor of kissing his jaw. Bones tips backward, pulling his lips away long enough to say, "Got other things on my mind about now."

"So I noticed," Jim mutters. "G'back here, Bones."

"We're not done talking about this," Bones warns.

"Yeah, I know," Jim says.

He backs against the counter, pulling Bones with him, his hands finding their way to his ass in record time. Wrapping his arms around Bones, he slips his hands beneath his pants, grinning when Bones makes a noise low in his throat. He squeezes the warm flesh, pulling Bones tighter against him. He's dizzy, his head is buzzing, and he doesn't know what to do first.

Bones is watching him with eyes so dark they're almost black. "Do you?" He takes Jim's face in his hands, leans in for a kiss so hard that it's bruising. "Do you really?"

Looking at him, Jim would promise him anything and, fuck, he's in trouble if Bones ever realizes that. "Yes," he says, solemn. "Really." He brushes a gentle kiss across Bones's lips, then a longer, firmer one. It's less seduction than it is vow and he means every single micron of it. "_Really_."

Bones considers it, looking at him with eyes that promise a world of hurt if he tries to weasel out of it. "Fine," he says, that promise backed up with a nod. "Sounds good to me."

A glimmer of mischief is the only warning Jim gets before he's yanked into another kiss. He yelps when a hand lands somewhere important, squeezing playfully, and holy fuck he is in so much trouble.

Probably why his grin is ear to ear when they part. "Something get into you, Doctor McCoy?" he asks.

"Not yet," Bones says. He grabs Jim by the belt, walking them backward out of the kitchen, "but I'm thinking something's about to get into you."

The pun is horrific, but Jim ignores it in favor of the challenge. He smirks. "We'll see about that," he says.

It's common knowledge that Jim Kirk is a tactical genius.

That one is true.


End file.
